Black Journal
by Lucas H. Garrett
Summary: Tai, has never lived a stable life. Moving from one place to another, always having to switch schools. Matters are worse when he meets seven other individuals through his travels, every one of them sharing a story different, yet relative to his. That's where he keeps them all. In a peculiar black journal. A place he can call his own. Filling the pages with his adventures. AU.


**Hey, everyone! It's been a while since I last wrote a story. Nevertheless, here I am presenting an entire new script. It's short, but standard. I hope anyone reading this may give it a chance.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything Digimon related, its affiliations, franchise nor associations. I do OWN any original characters, settings, plot or themes.**

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><p>He looked out the window, head resting against the corner, gazing at the yellow pastures that seemed to stretch into the horizons. The clouds vibrated pink, a soft breeze blowing through the fields, creating a sea of the golden colored grass.<p>

He sighed. He moved position, allowing his head to rest against the leather of the car's backseat. He closed his eyes.

The motor of the car churned softly, the seat oscillating softly making him weary. He allowed the sun to bathe him in its warmth. He wanted to sleep. Drift away into another world. A world of fantasy. His fantasy.

"How are you feeling?"

He opened his eyes. He caught her gaze through the rearview mirror, his aunt. Her piercing grey eyes. Different. Just like his mother's. He nodded. "Whatever," he responded.

She smiled. "First word all day," she simply stated, her attention focused on the road.

He chuckled. "Hopefully the last." He hunched against the seat, trying his best to cover his face. He felt bad. He wasn't particularly angry at his aunt. In fact, it was nothing personal, at least against her. It was simply unfair.

She sighed. "I know this isn't easy for you. The suddenness of it all, I mean. I get it. It's not easy adjusting, especially at your age, and during the middle—,"

"You don't know anything about me, okay?" he shouted. This somewhat startled her. He noticed this. "Just, just leave me alone," he spoke more intimately, but softly. He buried his head into the hood of his black sweater. He wanted to go back to his world. That special world.

All he needed was silence, and so it remained that way for the rest of the drive.

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><p>Agnes', pulled up the stone paved road, stationing the vehicle against the manor's main driveway.<p>

A soft wind blew from the east, small droplets touching against the pale of her skin. She looked up. It was the time of the year again. She walked to the back, knocking on the glass.

He rolled down the window.

"Aren't you getting out?"

He remained still.

She exhaled heavily. She looked over the horizon, watching as the last of the sun set below the Earth's curve. "It's going to rain soon." She looked at him again. "I don't know if you want to stay here all day, but me personally," she flung a bag over her shoulder, "I'd rather avoid getting wet."

He watched as his aunt made her way to the front of the manor.

The manor wasn't anything special. It was standard, really. A large fountain separated the main drive from the gardens directly east and west of the main road. Flowers and trees filled the spaciousness of the fields, dozens of windows filling the building's design. The color of the stone was a cream grey-white under the last of the sunlight.

He hated it. The house. He watched as a pair of birds flew quickly over a distance. He hated them. He opened the door to get off the car. He flung two bags over his shoulder, causing him to lose balance. This irritated him. He jabbed at the stone pavement, several pebbles digging into his skin making him bleed. This only made him howl in pain. Quickly standing, he kicked the rocks. He hated them.

As if by bad luck, rain began to pour moderately. He winced. He hated the rain. He hated being here. He looked down the road, gazing at the nothingness that was his life and the dense forest that shrouded him from the rest of society. How he hated that forest.

He picked up the bag again. Two letters were sprawled against a golden plaque attached to it. "TK" it read. He glanced at it, growing angry. He hated those letters. Cursed, he thought of them. He, bound by those letters. If only he wasn't he, he wondered.

"Tai," he heard his aunt shout his name. He made his way over to the front of the manor where his aunt stood waiting for him by the door.

"Step on the carpet before coming in," she obliged. She handed him a towel. "Here, dry yourself off."

He hadn't noticed it before, but he was drenched to his soles. Taking the towel from her, he began to brush against the roots of his hair, running it down onto the tips.

She chuckled. "You wouldn't need to soak so much if you just cut that hair."

He threw her the towel, walking in into the main foyer.

"Tai," she whined. "You're getting the floor all dirty."

He looked down at his shoes, noticing the muddy trail left behind from his shoes. He smiled. "Oops," he mockingly retorted.

She narrowed her eyes. The task she was given seemed so much harder now than she anticipated. "No worries," she smiled, trying her best to conceal her annoyance. She pulled against a rope, causing a set of bells to jingle from above.

It was not long before a man dressed in a suit came from a room to the right.

Tai noticed that he seemed to walk like those butlers found in television shows. So proper and modest. He didn't know if he wanted to laugh or feel sorry for the man. Was he here because he enjoyed his job, he wondered.

He didn't care, anyways. He cleaned his shoes with a rag given to him by the man, before making his way to the top of the stairs. His aunt followed closely behind.

She took the lead as they turned left, prompting him to follow her. She led him down a few corridors, until they came to a door that looked freshly painted. "I had this room refurbished in preparation for your stay." She opened the door.

Tai noted the walls, colored blue. He frowned. He hated the color blue. "Is this where I'll be staying until mom—,"

"This will be your temporary bedroom, yes."

He blinked in confusion. "Temporary?"

She nodded. "I don't suppose you'd like to live in this tiny room, now would you?"

He peaked at the inside of the room again. It wasn't anything grand, but it sure was big. Anyways, bigger than his own room back home, he thought. He raised an eyebrow. "I'll be getting a bigger bedroom?"

She nodded once more. "You are after all, a special guest."

He didn't care if she only referred to him as a guest. He walked in, searching the room in its entirety now. It was standard, if anything. The bed was queen sized, a common dresser near a window that sat at the back of the room. A small coffee table adorned the center, a desk fitted tight against the center wall. Two end table rested against the arms of the bed, a nightstand against the nearest corner to the door. He turned to look at his aunt.

She shrugged. "Good enough for now?"

He shrugged back. "I need to change," was his only reply.

She stood there for a moment, finally understanding what he meant. He was soaking wet. She blushed. "I'm sorry." She quickly shut the door. "I'll be out in the main foyer," she shouted over the wooden surface that stood between them.

He waited for her footsteps to fade away before rummaging through his bags. He pulled out a pair of jeans, and a shirt, quickly changing. He dropped the bags onto his new bed. It wasn't much. Just three bags, a large one with his clothes and sundries, another one, smaller, with his school and personal supplies, and finally… He picked up his knapsack, pulling out a medium-sized folder.

He set it down against his desk, opening it to pull out a black journal. It wasn't much, and the edges were tattered and worn in some parts, but he couldn't find it in him to replace it. It was after all something that was with him since his childhood.

He brushed his fingers against the jagged letters sprawled on the journal's cover. He chuckled. Looking at it now, the name seems silly, but at the time, as a kid, writing those few words seemed to make the most sense.

He looked at them again, this time with hope and fear in his eyes. Like, a child on his first day of school. The words still made sense in some way. Those small, but simple words. A world he could run to always.

He read them aloud: "This World Called My Fantasy".


End file.
